


The Day Bowie Died

by BadBadBucky



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Grief, M/M, Sadness, but some sweetness as well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 05:04:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20989319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadBadBucky/pseuds/BadBadBucky
Summary: Vince goes into mourning when he finds out David Bowie died. Howard tries to help.





	The Day Bowie Died

Vince hadn’t left their room in days and Howard was starting to get worried. It was mid January and usually Vince would still be buzzing off the joy of Christmas. It took him a long time to come down after the holidays. Howard always envied that. Howard was generally miserable again by tea on Boxing Day. But Vince could live off Christmas cheer for weeks after it was over. He had to find ways to work his gifts, almost all clothes, into his wardrobe, which meant impromptu fashion shows every night heading into New Years, then he proposed a thousand new year’s resolutions that would almost instantaneously be discarded, but were fun to dream on. January was generally a very happy time for Vince. Generally.

But on January 10, 2016, David Bowie died. 

Vince was playfully arguing with Howard about what to do for Valentine’s Day, as it was only a month out and he fully expected to be wooed. He and Howard had been together a little over a year and the previous Valentine’s Day had been one for the books. So Vince was teasing Howard, trying to get details, but Howard stoically refused all of Vince’s usual tricks. 

Then Vince’s phone dinged. He’d had Leroy set up google alerts for Topshop sales, club openings, and Jagger or Bowie news. Vince glanced down. Just a little glance at first. Something about Bowie. He’d check it in-then the word that he hadn’t caught at first jackhammered its way into his skull. Dead. But that-that couldn’t be-No there wasn’t-

Vince picked up his phone, rapidly tapping the home screen to pull up a newsfeed. Any newsfeed.

Howard always got annoyed when Vince started checking his phone in the middle of a conversation and was about to make a comment attesting to that fact when he caught sight of Vince’s face. His normally pale face had gone an alarming shade of gray. His phone dropped out of his hand. It smashed into the corner of the counter then clattered to the floor. 

“Vince?”

Vince was not home at the moment. 

“Vince!”

No answer.

Howard picked up Vince’s phone. The screen was spiderwebbed from where it had shattered on the floor but he could still make out the announcement. David Bowie. Dead at 69.

“Oh little man. I am so sorry.”

Howard reached out to hug Vince, but Vince snapped out of his fugue state and ran up the stairs to the flat. Howard heard the door to the flat slam and then a few seconds later he heard the door to their room slam as well. 

Vince did not like to cry in front of Howard. He never had. When they were kids and some bully made Vince cry, insulting bizarre clothes he had lovingly customized, or calling him little orphan Annie, Vince would disappear. Howard wouldn’t be able to find him anywhere until he finally emerged from one of his many hiding places with his face puffy and red but with a smile so bright and sunny you’d think he’d never had a bad day in his life. 

Howard put out a sign on the front door that said “Be Back Shortly” and climbed the stairs to the flat. He walked to the door of their bedroom and knocked softly.

“Can I come in?”

At first there was no answer and Howard twisted the knob.

“I’m really sorry Howard. I just need to be alone for a bit.” 

Vince and Howard apparently had vastly different notions of what “a bit” meant. Howard took it to mean a few hours. For Vince it meant days. He slept all day and didn’t come out of their room in the evenings either. When Howard would talk to him he would give short monosyllabic answers in the strained voice he used when he’d been crying and he knew talking would make him start again, because every word reminded him of his grief in some way. At night Howard would climb into their bed and Vince would nestle in close, but wouldn’t try and talk his ear off the way he usually did at night. Every once in awhile he would wake to find his arms empty, with Vince gone, assuming that Vince had gone off to cry or get something to drink he would sink back into sleep and by morning Vince would be in his arms again. 

What Howard didn’t know was that every night, after everyone was asleep, Vince would creep out of the flat and walk the dark streets of Shoreditch, and each night he would find a different memorial with a different group of mourners. He would stand with them all night, staring into the hearts of rain wilted flowers as if they would give them the secret of how to move forward without their icon. Their northern star. He would return to the flat in the small hours of the morning, before Howard rose, and fall into bed.

He didn’t listen to Bowie. He couldn’t. It hurt too much. His chest would seize at the first note. The first time he tried, the day it happened, he had to scramble to lift the needle off the record, because his heart ached too much and he was crying too hard and Bowie shouldn’t make him feel this way. He’d scratched the record and that just made everything oh so much worse. The feeling went out of his legs and he sat down hard in front of the record player, sobbing, with his hands over his eyes like a little kid. Listening to the pop and crackle of the player with no record to play. The empty lonely sound perfectly matched how his head felt. Finally he was able to stand. He carefully slid the record back into its sleeve. Then he gently hugged it. He wasn’t ready yet. It was too soon. 

He didn’t want to infect Bowie’s music with his sadness. Vince could be funny about things like that. He didn’t like to infect the things that made him happy. So he never used the things he liked to make himself feel better when he was down. He didn’t eat his favorite sweets because then they would start to taste of sadness. He didn’t listen to his favorite music because he didn’t want it to make him cry. He kept his distance from Howard so he would only have happy feelings attached with his love. So when he felt blue, which was rare, he had a very specific set of things he had approved to make himself feel better. He could listen to the Cure, because the Cure was already sad. He could eat strawberry cake, because Bryan had given him strawberry cake when he told him that he was sending him to boarding school in the world of man. He could wear jumpers and sweatpants because he already felt gross and ugly. These things were already infected with sadness but they were also nice things that could slowly make him feel better. 

Then an entire interminable week had passed. Howard was getting a bit frantic. He could count on one hand the number of times Vince had been this upset. 

Xxx

_ Howard felt sure the Vince Noir he met today could not possibly be the same one he had seen haunting the halls of their boarding school for the last week and a half.  _

_ On the first day of school there had been quite a ruckus. A tiny blond boy was screaming and wouldn’t let go of the car door. This was all made a lot more interesting by virtue of the fact that the man trying to pry off the blond boys death grip was international popstar Bryan Ferry, and the squalling waif was his foster son. A lot of the younger kids had a hard time their first year at boarding school. It was Howard’s second year so he was an old hand, but even the most british among them might have a bit of a wobble to their stiff upper lip as their parents drove away. However, this kid was making a scene that was virtually unheard of. Like a little wild animal. Howard found the whole thing rather unseemly but didn’t think much of it beyond that.  _

_ He caught sight of the blond boy every once in a while. The boy had dark circles under his eyes and a perpetually runny nose. The runny nose wasn’t because Vince was constantly crying, it was because he was having a hard time adjusting to sleeping inside and had taken to sneaking out and night and sleeping under the stars, but it was too cold without a leopard or bear to curl up with and so he was constantly sick for his entire first year in the world of man. But Howard didn’t know that and when he met Vince officially all memory of the sodden mess he was the first week of school was completely erased. Erased when he was faced with the real Vince Noir. The sunshine kid.  _

_ Howard had been sitting alone, reading a book about an Amazonian expedition when the blond boy had approached him. _

_ “Alright?” The blond boy said. _

_ “Yes. I am perfectly well, thank you,” Howard said, not looking up from his book. _

_ “What you readin’?” _

_ “A book about explorers. Men of action.” _

_ “Sounds genius. Will you read aloud to me?” _

_ Presumptuous little thing.  _

_ “Why don’t you read your own book?” _

_ “I don’t read so good. Bryan taught me to read music but he plum forgot ‘bout regular readin’.” _

_ “Well. I don’t know who this Bryan person is, but he sounds horrifically irresponsible.” _

_ Vince was only 6, so he didn’t know exactly what these words meant, but he liked the way this tall boy was getting all puffed up on his behalf, like a fussy corduroy hen. _

_ “Come on. Just for a bit,” Vince wheedled. _

_ “Very well.” Howard read aloud for the rest of the lunch period. _

_ Vince didn’t really seem to be paying attention. He’d whisper quiet bits of conversation to a lady bug, then he’d draw pictures in the air with his fingers, then he’d try and stand on his head, but every time Howard paused, convinced the boy had lost interest, the boy would say “keep going!”  _

_ By the end of the period Howard, who in his short life had not been given many reasons to smile, was grinning from ear to ear. He was a bit annoyed with himself that the antics of this little kid could delight him so much, but they did. The memory of Vince screaming and begging for Bryan to take him back to the jungle was blown away like a dandelion puff in the fierce gale of Vince singing and dancing as he turned the words from Howard’s book into a song. Then they were both singing a funny little song. _

_ “Teddy Teddy Roosevelt. _

_ A Teddy Bear, way down on the Amazon.  _

_ Ooh Piraha river, ooh alligator stream. _

_ Dodging arrows on the water _

_ Canoe, canoe, canoodling _

_ Teddy Teddy Roosevelt. _

_ With his little glasses _

_ President, presidential _

_ Bear in the whitehouse, badger in the white house,  _

_ Bizarre focus on American Historyyyyyyyy.” _

_ They were inseparable after that, except when Vince would disappear for long stretches of time with his walkman, coming back with red eyes and a smile. But all that stopped once he’d been at school for a few months.  _

Xxx

After a week spent mostly in bed, save for his late night sojourns, Vince finally emerged from their room. He wore all black and a very understated mourner’s veil with a large black hat. 

Howard was making tea when Vince came out. He didn’t hear the door open at first as he was clattering around.

“Howard?”

Howard whipped around.

“Vince!” Howard quickly replaced his natural grin upon seeing his love up and about for a more somber and respectful look. “How are you doing little man?”

“Alright. I think,” Vince said, his voice a bit rusty from disuse. “Can I ask you to do something for me?”

“Of course. Anything.”

Howard was just so relieved Vince was talking to him at all. The last week had been an absolute nightmare without Vince’s usual cheeriness. Although the worst was that Howard desperately wanted to help, to make Vince feel better, but Vince wouldn’t let him.

“I think I’m finally ready to listen to Bowie again but-” he heaved a gigantic shuddering breath, struggling to keep himself under control “-I don’t wanna do it alone. Would you listen with me?” 

Vince had finally come to the conclusion that delaying the heartache was not the same as getting rid of it. He knew that he was always going to be a little sad when he listened to Bowie from now on, but he’d also be happy, and that was the important thing. Bowie was so much more than his death. He deserved to be mourned. But he also deserved to be remembered. His music deserved to be listened to. 

Howard nodded and walked toward Vince. Waiting to be directed further. Vince gestured to the couch.

Vince flipped through their vinyl. He pulled out  _ Hunky Dory.  _

Howard was a bit surprised, he would have thought Vince would gravitate straight to  _ Ziggy Stardust _ since it was his favorite. Vince set the needle on the record. Then settled next to Howard on the couch. Howard offered up his hand and Vince took it. 

The thunking music hall intro of  _ Changes  _ started. The juxtaposition of the upbeat song and the aching pain coming off his little man in waves was jarring to say the least. 

_ Still don't know what I was waiting for _

_ And my time was running wild, a million dead-end streets and _

_ Every time I thought I'd got it made _

_ It seemed the taste was not so sweet _

Howard had never really listened to the lyrics before. They were actually quite sad. He couldn’t really see Vince’s face all that well behind the veil but could hear sniffling.

The veil was Vince’s compromise. He hated to cry in front of Howard but he really really needed him. If he was hidden, maybe it would be okay. He knew it was silly, but whenever he was with other people he felt the urge to play the clown. He didn’t like to burden people with his sadness. He felt most happy when he was making other people happy and he knew that was what people expected of him. If he didn’t play his role they might not like him anymore. But he didn’t want to feel happy right now. He wanted to grieve. 

_ Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes (Turn and face the strange) _

_ Ch-ch-changes, don't want to be a richer man _

Vince laid his head on Howard’s shoulder. The tears were coming fast. It was hot under the veil.

“Can you breath under that thing?” Howard asked.

Vince slowly shook his head. 

“Want to take it off?”

Vince hesitated. Then nodded.

Howard very gently unpinned the hat and veil from Vince’s hair. Underneath the veil was a fright mask. Howard pulled the spooky mask off and underneath that was a domino mask. Howard couldn’t help but chuckle a bit. It was like an old vaudeville act. Vince was so funny sometimes he could break your heart.

Howard gently tugged the mask away from Vince’s face. The mask was instantly replaced with Vince’s hands, covering his entire face. 

“It’s okay Vince. You don’t have to hide from me. Not ever,” Howard said softly. 

Vince hesitated. Howard stroked his hair. Rubbed his back. 

_ Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes (Turn and face the strange) _

_ Ch-ch-changes, just gonna have to be a different man _

Vince finally took his hands down. Howard could see his washed out blue eyes, made all the more striking by the red surrounding them. Vince reached over and took Howard’s hand again. Finally allowing Howard to see his pain, instead of leaving it to dance in the shadows as he had all his life. His face crumpled.

He sobbed. Loud. Ugly. Not the stately pretty tears he occasionally let escape in the presence of others. Snot. Tears. All commingled. He knew Howard must be grossed out. Was most likely looking for an exit strategy. But Howard kept stroking his hair and whispering sweet words in his ear. So maybe not. Maybe Howard was okay with him not playing his role all the time.

_ Time may change me _

_ But I can't trace time _

He’d thought carefully about which song he would listen to. When he was finally ready. Bowie always gave him hope and Bowie always gave him wisdom. The space oracle had spoken. Turn and face the strange. Face this strange new life without his greatest guiding light. Turn and face the strange of smiling again. Turn and face the strange of Valentine’s day with Howard, and smoking hookah with Naboo, and singing at the Velvet Onion, and doing Bollo’s hair, and eating sweets, and listening to records and dancing and holding hands and crying (maybe even in front of Howard occasionally) and laughing. Turn and face the strange of living every day. Because he would face changes every day of his life and he would not fear them. 

Thank you David. 


End file.
